by Kal Spriggs
His instinct told him to reject everything they had put in him, to deny all their assumptions… yet he didn’t know what to replace them with.
It would be so easy to believe in nothing. To embrace the darkness and emptiness he felt, like a ragged wound, inside his chest. They wanted a weapon, he thought, I could be a weapon unlike anything they ever imagined. Telepathy would allow him to sense his enemies long before they saw him. He could kill all those who had a part in what was done to him. I could become a scourge on all those who hurt us, he thought, I could dismantle ESPSec in a matter of months…
Shaden shuddered and he felt his stomach roil. He felt repulsed by that darkness. What good would it do him to kill so many people? He would only make psychics that much more hated. He would still be doing what they wanted him to do.
He couldn’t trust his impulses and he couldn’t afford to listen to his assumptions. Shaden looked over at his mother, “I need to learn more, I need to know what they did to me.”
***
“You wanted to see me, sir?” The woman who stepped through the doorway was unexceptional. Her brown eyes and brown hair were average in a boring way. She wore a fashionable, if unremarkable, business suit. She looked like any other office drone that might work in the city… and even Halving wouldn’t give her a second glance without knowing what he did.
Jonathan Halving smiled as he considered that. She really was one of his best agents. “Yes, Misha. I have a job for you.”
“When you say it like that, I get the feeling it’s not going to be easy,” Misha said with a slight smile. She didn’t like easy jobs, it was another reason that Halving liked her. She loved challenges. A pity she’s too morally inflexible about what she finds acceptable, Jonathan thought to himself, she’d have made a wonderful assassin.
“Or simple.” Jonathan returned the smile. “Listen to this.”
He started the recording and Colonel Given’s voice filled the room. “We have made progress, but there remain a number of projects which are certainly a waste of resources. Halving seems to have far too great an interest in exploring research anomalies. To date, his best creations are the results of Project Kraken, but those creatures are entirely uncontrollable. Some of his other projects, especially his so-called ‘enhancement’ projects are pointless and wasteful. I’ve passed along my recommendation to terminate those studies.”
“As far as the two surviving subjects of Project Archon’s mental reconstruction, results are difficult to interpret. One of the subjects, the one with a mental block has escaped, apparently with the help of rogue psychics. I very nearly terminated this entire project. Only the fact that Halving appears more disturbed than me has prevented me from implementing a purge. His obvious anger at the loss of his recovery team, and infuriation at the damage one of his agents received seems a genuine reaction. I doubt this is a ploy on his part, and I’m willing to let him attempt to recover the specimen on his own…for now.”
“The other one has proven much more tractable. She’s powerful enough that the mental blocks on her have twice eroded so that she came to understand what she has been made into. I believe the time to initiate Operation Trojan will soon arrive.”
There was a slight pause before the Colonel continued, “Moving on, my superiors have once again denied my requests for…”
Jonathan cut the recording. “I’m sure the fact that Colonel Givens hasn’t informed me of any Operation Trojan is merely an oversight.” He allowed some irritation to reach his voice, though in truth he felt dispassionate about it. He had expected such a betrayal sooner or later. “We’ve served loyally for thirty years and they still don’t trust us.” Granted, the advent of life-extension therapies made three decades a minor investment of potential time, but he did feel some sting to see his efforts so casually thrown away.
Misha waited for him to come to a point. That was one of many things he liked about Misha, she knew when to remain quiet.
“Find out what this ‘Trojan,’ is. Find out what Colonel Given’s fascination is with the female subject.” Jonathan snapped. “Between trying to recover our other wayward male subject and my normal work, I just don’t have time to look into it.”
Misha nodded, “Yes, sir.” She frowned, “If I might ask, how did you acquire the recording?” It was professional interest in that gaze, but Jonathan still considered holding the information back. Misha was already dangerous enough, he didn’t want to tip her off on potential security leaks. Then again, he thought, it isn’t as if I haven’t taken appropriate measures for my own security.
Jonathan smiled. “ESPSec is paranoid about secrecy, but mostly from psychic attacks. Colonel Givens has three conditioned psychics providing twenty four hour security on her offices. Each of them has an armed escort, and they’re rotated often enough that they’ve no chance to meet and conspire together.” He pulled out the recording chip. “Her mundane security is lax. Like most people, she keeps her electronic passwords written down so she doesn’t have to remember them all. And she records her notes on her computer. Half her cleaning staff is on my payroll.”
Misha smiled. “Very clever, sir.”
Jonathan shrugged, “I don’t limit myself to just my natural strengths.”
***
Chapter 13
At first, it wasn’t even that I didn’t understand things. There was so much that I didn’t know that I could, and sometimes did, spend hours taking in new experiences. The worst part was that I didn’t know what I didn’t know. I had no frame of reference and I couldn’t trust myself. I started with books and training, but you can only learn so much from books, sooner or later you need to experience things yourself.
--Memoirs of Shaden Mira
Knowledge is power. Understanding that is the first part to becoming a player in this game. The subjects of Project Archon are kept as much in the dark as possible and I never hesitate to wipe them back to their generic blanks. If they are dependant upon me for everything, from knowing how to interact to learning their abilities, then they will never rebel. One day I’ll apply that lesson to a larger populace.
--Dr. Jonathan Halving, Project Archon Notes
Shaden needed as much information as possible.
He needed to find out as much as possible about Jonathan Halving. Obviously, Halving lied in most, if not all, of what he had told Shaden. The depth of manipulation remained to be seen, but already much of the training and many of the conversations took on more of a sinister appearance. The now obvious gaps in memory and time disturbed him more. There were days, perhaps weeks, of time for which Shaden could not account for. Those gaps suggested time that Halving’s people had worked on him, erasing memories and putting in their programming.
The only connection he could see lay with the stolen thoughts from the two teens who sought to lure him into a trap. “Before I... met you, a boy and a girl offered to help me. I got suspicious, and when I read their thoughts—“
“You learned they planned on leading you to a trap?” His mother smiled, “Dear, I’m afraid that happens all the time in the city. You had ‘mark’ written all over you, I’d imagine.”
Shaden scowled slightly, “Anyway, the one, a girl, got a phone call. Her boss gave her a description of me, and told her about a reward to turn me in.”
His mother frowned, “That’s not good. A pair of street kids who lure the ignorant off to rob them is one thing. If there are criminals working with ESPSec, it’s something that needs to be discouraged.” Her eyes caught his, “Did you get a name?”
Shaden closed his eyes in thought for a moment, the name floated just out of reach, then his eyes came open, “Cezero.”
His mother froze. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, “Are you certain?”
“I’m certain. The girl had memories of some other jobs, one of them was turning over a pair of psychics to ESPSec for Cezero. She was one of his enforcers, I think.” Shaden cocked his head, “You know where we can find him?”
His mother nodded, her lips pressed in a flat, angry line. “If this is true, then it’s far worse than you realize. Cezero has a good reputation with the refugees in the city and with underground psychics.”
“Refugees?” Shaden asked, confused.
“Oh, that’s right, you just came out of their brain-washing,” his mother said. “Things are bad in the cities. Lots of gang violence, lots of government people cracking down. INSec has a brigade of their people here, searching for insurrectionists and revolutionaries. ESPSec does periodic sweeps for psychics, rounding up anyone with a shred of talent and shipping them off to the camps… when they don’t gun them down in the streets.” His mother’s gaze went distant, “Even for those who just keep their heads down, it’s bad enough. Taxes are high on almost everything, food and other necessities are in limited supply… and there’s always attacks by SIGIL. It’s damned near impossible to get travel papers, so many people sneak out one way or another. There are whole areas that are virtually abandoned… others overrun by gangs.”
“So Cezero helps these refugees?” Shaden said.
His mother gave a nod and her grim expression told him that she didn’t like the thought that he might work with ESPSec. “He’s a facilitator,” she said after a moment. “He has boats that taxi people to the ships out in the harbor or down the coast. He has warehouses to keep people out of sight. Cezero knows which INSec and ESPSec officers are on the take, who will accept bribes to look the other way. Not only does he help out his contacts, but he has a reputation for helping anyone who comes to him. He takes cash up-front and doesn’t ask questions,” his mother said. She shook her head, “We have to find out more. If he has betrayed our kind, then there are a lot of psychics in trouble.”
“Aren’t there other ways out of the city?” Shaden asked.
“There are plenty of ways out. Cezero’s got a good scheme going, but he’s not the only one by far,” Janis said. “No, the problem isn’t even really who Cezero is or what he does, the problem is what he is. If he’s selling people out to ESPSec, it means he’s turned on his own kind.”
Shaden frowned at that. “But that would mean…”
His mother gave another nod, “Cezero is a psychic.”
***
Shaden spent the remainder of the day in the cramped apartment while his mother went out to find information. He spent much of the time staring at things, seeking any sense of recognition. He studied the beat-up couch he’d awoken on along with the rest of the collection of battered furniture. Neither any of it nor the apartment matched with his dream, much less gave him any glimpses at the person he once was.
Shaden had found more luck with a set of pictures in a cabinet in his mother’s bedroom. There he found several pictures of himself, at various ages. The other people in the pictures remained nameless strangers to him, all except one of Officer Green. Shaden wondered what had happened to the man.
Nothing else, from his mother’s dog-eared collection of paperback mysteries to the calico cat who deigned to let Shaden feed and pet it, struck any chords. The one thing --the only thing-- he felt certain of was that somehow despite all the memories they took from him, he somehow retained a knowledge of his mother.
He didn’t find a phone, television, or network access anywhere in the apartment. That didn’t particularly surprise him given the abilities of Amalgamated Worlds Security Branch. He knew, from the training they had programmed into him, that all three could be used to monitor the occupants at any time. Shaden had little doubt that even if ESPSec lacked computer hackers, then Internal Security had enough to make up for them. InSec and especially their “counterstrike” teams were supposed to safeguard the domestic side of Amalgamated Worlds.
Shaden had the feeling that, given the deception regarding ESPSec’s declared mission of policing rogue psychics, he probably had interesting gaps in his knowledge about InSec as well. The only thing worse than creating a rogue psychic would be creating terrorists to generate threats, he thought.
He wandered the apartment until he settled down in a comfortable, if ugly, plush chair that faced the door and stared at the apartment’s one piece of artwork. The oil on canvas panting disturbed him in a way he couldn’t quite describe.
At first glance, all he saw was a dark frame, with an open doorway to a room filled with light. The details of that room were vague. Shaden saw smiling faces, bright colors, and what looked like food. Whether it represented a party or a family gathering, Shaden couldn’t exactly say, only that it looked fun. It was the light that caught his attention at first. But what kept it was the shadows outside the door. On the edges of the door Shaden saw the impression of the doorway quite clearly. The edges of the canvas, however, had only slight variations of dark colors. The longer Shaden looked, the more and more it seemed he could make out the impression of demons or monsters of some kind. Those creatures seemed drawn towards the gathering, yet there was one last shape that stood before them and the doorway.
One person stood outside in the dark and faced away from the door. His vague features seemed set in a look of determination. The only bit of light silhouetted him slightly in profile.
A simple brass plaque on the bottom right corner named the painting: Sacrifice. Shaden was too far away to read the name of the artist.
That lone figure, only noticed after one saw the monsters he stood against, shot a mixture of emotions into Shaden’s chest. He felt both sad and exhilarated, proud and disgraced. After spending almost an hour staring at the painting, he finally rose and stepped close enough to read the artist’s name.
John Mira
The name struck him like a punch in the guts.
That was my name, before… Shaden stumbled back and sat heavily in the chair. The painting which excited so much interest was one that he had painted. He hadn’t even recognized it. He felt overwhelmed, for he knew that the rape of his mind was something he could not recover from. His lost memories were not due to brain damage or psychological issues like amnesia. His memories were gone, erased as if they’d never been. Someone had systematically and methodically wiped away his very existence and rebuilt one of cardboard placeholders and propaganda in its place.
Every memory I have, every goal I work for, every dream I have comes at someone else’s direction, he thought.
“Only if you let them,” his mother said.
Shaden looked up, startled that he hadn’t noticed her arrival. “How can I not? They made me, from my fake memories of a generic childhood to my fake school years, to my fake military record.” Shaden swallowed at the bitter taste in his mouth. “How can I ever trust my own judgment when it’s not even really mine?”
“Because we are more than the memories and actions that make us up,” she said. “We have choices, all of us. Cause and effect only account for so much. We are more than animals acting and reacting on instinct or training.”
Shaden nodded slowly, “Then who am I? Am I Shaden Kirroy the victim of some heinous crime or John Mira a man with no memories?”
His mother looked away, “I can’t tell you that… but neither can they. We can learn what they did to you, what happened, but in the end, you have to decide who you are. No one else can tell you.”
Shaden stared at the painting. Sacrifice, he thought, it’s almost like he knew this would happen to him and I.
If so, Shaden hoped it was one hell of a party.
***
“Alright, I’ve learned a bit more about Cezero,” his mother said, later, as she sliced carrots. “None of it is good news, unfortunately.”
“Cezero has a group of mercenaries as his bodyguards. They’re extremely loyal, and their leader goes by the name Primus. He’s either a half-brother or a cousin of Cezero, I’m not sure which.” She scooped up a handful of sliced carrots and dropped them into the stew. She glanced at Shaden as she did this with a frown, “Huh, one improvement anyway, you used to hate boiled carrots.”
“I did?” Shaden asked, startled.
“Huh,” Shaden said.
“Anyway, there’s ten to fifteen psychic mercs present to guard Cezero, along with forty or fifty of his hired muscle.” His mother glanced at him as she started cutting the celery. “How do you feel about—”
“I dunno, celery or no, I’ll give it a try,” Shaden said absently as he considered the tactical situation. “Does it look like the mercs are in on it?”
His mother shrugged and dropped a handful into the stew pot. “No, I don’t think so. I can’t be certain, but they’ve got a pretty good reputation, they’ve tangled with ESPSec a couple of times, according to my sources.”
“Which are?”
His mother smiled, “ESPSec hasn’t captured nearly as large a portion of psychics as they believe.” Something predatory lurked in her smile, something that hungered for revenge. “We’ve got a network of sorts, to pass on information to each other.” She set the knife to the side and wiped her hands on a towel, “One day, we’ll be ready to take the war to them and that’s when the bastards better beware.”
Shaden looked away from the anger on her face. He understood it, for he knew what it was like to be hunted in just the short time since his escape. Even now he half feared a boot at the door and a squad of ESPSec muscle to storming in to arrest or kill him.
But he hadn’t lived with that fear for long, and he knew that the only way for his memories to be so completely erased would be at the hands of a psychic. Since there was only one psychic he knew of at the root of all this, that meant he knew who to find.
Jonathan Halving, if that was his real name, had much to answer for.
The sooner I find him, the better, Shaden thought. He didn’t know well enough to pinpoint Halving’s facility. Angel had driven him through a howling blizzard and there were too many places to search, especially when the police checkpoints would all have his picture by now.